With Me
by grovyrosegirl
Summary: Winston has initiated the recall to Overwatch's former agents. With his old friends returning, the future is looking bright. However, all is not well and launching the recall has unforeseen consequences. Secrets of the former Overwatch's past are uncovered, secrets that Winston couldn't even imagine. Will the recall bring about the hope for the future that Winston wished for?


**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I wrote this fic way back in July and posted it on AO3, but then I realized I forgot to upload it here too. ****Three months later. **

***Long disappointed in myself sigh***

**I'm very tired. **

**Anyway. Since Fanfiction doesn't have a warnings system like AO3 does, I'll let everyone know ahead of time that this fic will contain:**

**Canon-typical violence, mentions of weapons, and minor character deaths. **

**Nothing too graphic, it's basically what you'd expect from something rated "T", but it's there just in case. One last thing, I highly recommend checking out the AO3 version of this story for additional author notes (since making author notes on here often looks kind of messy and this site doesn't let me post links). My username on AO3 is the same as here, grovyrosegirl. **

**That's all for now! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_"Are you with me?"_

The question he'd asked to everyone who received the recall. A question that was simple to give an answer to. Yes or no. That was all. He was expecting a lot of "no's", those didn't bother him. What he was asking would be a heavy burden. So many lives thrown into chaos with Overwatch's fall, six years for those many lives to try and pick up the pieces with its absence. It wouldn't have surprised him at all to find Athena's inbox filled to the brim with message after message, giving a reason for why they wouldn't be coming.

"I have a family now."

"I haven't fought in years."

"Too risky, sorry."

"It's better if I don't get involved."

All of this, he was prepared for.

What Winston _wasn't_ expecting was silence.

Aside from Tracer, the first to answer, no one responded, not even to reject the call. Days passed, every morning was a daily routine of asking Athena to check any communications channel. And every morning, it would be the same, automated answer from her.

"Inbox: Empty. Accessing Overwatch Agent Communication Network. Current Status: Inactive."

There would be a pause, followed by a sigh, grunt, or mutter.

Athena would respond, "I'm sorry, Winston."

Having the ever-enthusiastic Tracer back on Watchpoint Gibraltar lifted his spirits a bit. If there was any good from this nerve-wracking situation, it was that it brought his friend back to his side. Lena hadn't changed much over the years. She was the brightest light in the room, always knowing what to say to cheer him up. Her confidence was contagious. Their first mission together again in five years, a close battle with two of Talon's deadliest agents, at a museum to prevent them from stealing a gauntlet, proved that. It turned into an all-out brawl, with innocent bystanders taking cover nearby. Tracer's spirit had not only pushed Winston to make it through the fight, but it spread to one of the bystanders, a young boy. He couldn't have been older than thirteen, and he gained enough courage to run from cover, take the gauntlet, and swing a hit at Talon's best assassin, sending her flying back.

This first victory kept him going. _This _was what Overwatch was meant for. Protecting the innocent, then inspiring them to become heroes themselves.

And yet, the morning routines chipped at that spirit. He woke up to the empty rooms of the Watchpoint daily. Tracer was there now, yet not even she could make up for all of the open space. The duo was a good team, sure. But they wouldn't be enough forever. Especially not against something as massive as Talon.

Six years ago, Overwatch stood a chance against Talon. Now? Overwatch was himself, Lena, and Athena squatting on a mothballed base. Three against thousands.

"Don't worry, luv," Tracer told him one of those mornings. After seeing the look on his face, she immediately blinked to his side, a hand gently placed on his large shoulder. "Give it time. Someone has to answer."

* * *

She wasn't wrong.

At the crack of dawn a few days later, Winston and Tracer were awoken by the sounds of a large vehicle outside. Winston feared the worst, whether it was the UN somehow intercepting the recall or Reaper coming back to finish what he started, and immediately rushed outside with Tracer. The two were armed, ready for a fight.

However, there wasn't a fight waiting.

A black RV was parked just outside of the chain-link fence that (poorly) blocked off the watchpoint's former entrance. The door of the vehicle opened and out stepped a large, towering man. Winston saw two muscular arms moving up and waving in the air. A loud yet familiar voice bellowed across the distance, somehow managing to even overpower the sounds of the ocean crashing against the rocks of Gibraltar.

"Winston, my friend! It's been far too long!"

Tracer beamed, her pistols immediately returning to her armor, and cupped her hands as she shouted, "Reinhardt! Is that you?"

"Ah, Oxton is here as well!" The former lieutenant said as he made his way through the fence's gap. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Got here first," Tracer replied with a smirk, running ahead to meet him halfway. "Guess I'm still too quick for you, old man."

Reinhardt let out a hardy laugh, "You merely got the advantage of a head start. We had things to take care of before arriving."

"Rein-," Winston started, but immediately cleared his throat. "I mean, Lieutenant Wilhelm, sir! It really is an honor to have you back, sir. Thank you for-"

He was interrupted by Reinhardt giving him a friendly slap on the back. Winston's armor took most of the brunt, though it managed to make his glasses slide down his face.

"Bah! Winston! There's no need for any of those titles. I can appreciate you wanting to jump right into business, but this a meeting of friends. No ranks attached," said Reinhardt.

"In that case, it's good to see you again, Reinhardt. Overwatch wasn't the same without you," Winston returned the smile as he straightened his glasses.

Tracer cut in, "Sorry to interrupt, but you said 'we'?"

As if right on cue, the rattling of the fence alerted him to another figure approaching them. She was smaller than the two tanks of Reinhardt and Winston, yet still bigger than Tracer. She glanced around the empty watchpoint with a skeptical look as she walked closer.

"You remember Brigitte, don't you?" Reinhardt asked.

Tracer's jaw nearly fell, "Brigitte?!"

At the sound of her name, Brigitte turned her attention to the three. While she smiled, Winston could still see the skepticism in her eyes. He felt as if it were directed solely at him.

Tracer paid no mind, she stepped towards her, "Look at you, luv! You've gotten so big! Last time I saw you-," she trailed off for a moment. "Gosh, when was that?"

"It wasn't that long ago," Brigitte said with a chuckle. She let her arms open as Tracer approached her, gearing up for a hug she knew was coming, "Although...I guess travelling _does_ help with the muscle build."

Tracer gladly accepted the hug, "So, anyone else in there? Did Torbjörn catch a ride with you two?"

Both Reinhardt and Brigitte seemed to grimace at that jest. Brigitte released Tracer before folding her arms and avoiding eye contact.

"Right. You see, about Papa-,"

Reinhardt finished, "We might have neglected to tell Torbjön about our…" he paused and took another look over at the watchpoint, "_detour_ to Gibraltar."

Tracer spun back around to Reinhardt, "What?!"

"Papa's been away from home for a while now," Brigitte attempted to argue. "Something about tracking down a few of his old designs that were stolen after Overwatch's shutdown. So we figured that we wouldn't be able to tell him right away even if-,"

"I'll give you my condolences the day he finds out," Tracer said in a morbid tone.

The young squire rolled her eyes, "Says the first volunteer for breaking the Petras Act."

"Touché, Brigitte. Touché."

* * *

Winston's spirits rose back up. With every new person who came to the watchpoint, the base felt less isolated. Granted, it would never be nearly as lively as it was back in its prime. Winston would still wander through the empty hallways, remembering when they were filled with engineers carrying equipment for the next ship or scientists hurrying along to get their results to the lab. The lack of shoulders bumping and constant chatter still got to him.

Five people were here. Five people were squatting in a base built for thousands.

Five _against_ thousands. Logic graciously decided to remind him of this on a daily basis.

He couldn't think about that. There was work to do.

Living arrangements for the residents were minimal. During its heyday, Watchpoint Gibraltar was equipped with a large dormitory for all residents, with the addition of a few apartments for the heads of the orbital launch facility. Years of disuse had left these areas to rot and become inhabitable. Keeping them in good condition would've been a waste when it had been only Athena and himself. However, Reinhardt and Brigitte's arrival got Winston thinking of the number of beds that would be needed if the recall was successful. Then came the number of showers, followed by the number of food supplies, the number of medical equipment, and the list went on. Any spare items lying around his lab became another note on the mental checklist.

Chips in the spirit were fast approaching again. He should have thought of this earlier. Why didn't he think of this earlier? How could Overwatch ever stand a chance if he couldn't even run a base properly?Why did he do this?

Winston shook his head. Not now. Now wasn't the time.

Focus. Focus. _Focus_.

For now, Winston and the others made do with the former crew quarters. With its small size, it was easy to fix up within a day, and there were enough beds for each current resident.

The small kitchenette area in a nearby hallway served as their temporary kitchen for basic meals until they could get around to fixing the mess hall. The group ate together in Winston's lab, with Lena pulling out some foldable tables and chairs she found in the old briefing room. It was another welcome change of pace, seeing the others gather around for a meal and knowing that a seat was saved for him. Reinhardt and Tracer swapped stories while they ate, with Brigitte chiming in to fact-check some of Reinhardt's more "imaginative" aspects of his tales. Tracer talked about King's Row, sharing her hopes for better relations between humans and omnics with an upcoming public speech by Tekhartha Mondatta of the Shambali.

"You remember him, don't you Reinhardt?" said Tracer.

Reinhardt nodded, "Of course, from the uprising. Such a brave soul, that one. He kept the other hostages calm while we escorted them out of the power plant. I think he can do great good for London."

"Em thinks so too," Tracer said. "She's bummed she wasn't assigned to photograph the event. Her office stuck her on a business trip out of town the same day."

He laughed, "You'll have to go for her then."

"Way ahead of you, already got the flight booked back to London." Lena looked at Winston, "Thanks again, big guy. I know things are hectic right now."

Winston shook his head, "Don't worry about it. Talon's been quiet lately, so we won't be heading out in the field for a while. I can handle everything here while you're gone. Let me know how the speech goes."

* * *

Tracer left for London a few days later. Winston decided to use the time to get to work on renovations. He started by inspecting the server mainframe room, which he'd blocked off until now due to all of the exposed wires. The wires, though, were only the start of the problems. The ceiling tiles rotted, a good chunk of them were reduced to broken halves on the floor. Water was leaking through near one of the old air vents, and the overhead lights flickered repeatedly. He sighed, begrudgingly knowing he would need to cut the power for a bit in order to safely start the repairs.

As he began to move back to the lab for the proper tools, he was alerted by Athena.

"Winston. Brigitte requested you in the hangar. She says it's urgent."

A sinking feeling started in his gut, "Tell her I'm on my way."

After their arrival, Brigitte and Reinhardt had moved their RV into one of the abandoned hangars, and Brigitte took the initiative to transform the room into her new workshop. With all of the space, she could easily fit all of her tools and armor stands. When she wasn't with the others, she was usually there. Winston expected to find her working away at her armor or weapon like normal. Instead he met her right outside of the hangar's entrance, she was leaning against the wall with a serious look on her face.

"We need to talk," she said.

"Is something wrong?"

Brigitte nodded, "Follow me."

She began walking, Winston followed behind. As they went, Brigitte looked over her shoulder at him, that same skepticism he saw from her on her first day had returned, only this time there was no smile to hide it from the rest of her expression. She didn't say anything at first, merely watching him closely as they walked. He wanted to speak up, to ask questions or ease her obvious worries, but his voice wouldn't cooperate. It was locked down as her eyes seemed to narrow.

Finally, she turned back and broke the silence, "I was working on Reinhardt's armor and I needed more parts. I figured with a base as big as this, I could find scraps lying around. So, I went looking."

"Any luck?" Winston asked, hoping a conversation would smooth out the tension.

"I found stuff to work with," She flatly replied. "But I also found something else."

She led him to yet another dimly lit area of the watchpoint he had neglected to look over during his time here. The Ordnance Bay. Winston vaguely remembered this particular room. He recalled being told once that it held spare rocket parts and light security equipment. Watchpoint Gibraltar, after all, was a research facility.

Brigitte tapped the console on the other side of the wall. The door jolted, a scraping noise could be heard as it slowly opened. She entered first, Winston followed.

It took a mere few steps into the room before Winston felt his heart skip a beat.

Lined up neatly on the tall shelves, there were indeed rocket parts in the room. Except not the kind for any sort of space travel. They were all the size of a van, yet narrow in length. Each one was painted red at the tip. They were stacked on top of each other, kept together in some sort of locked container.

These were _warheads_.

"I…" Winston's voice failed to work again. All he could do was stare. This was wrong. This was so wrong. This didn't make any sense. Why were these here? Why here of all places?

Brigitte faced him, "Did you know about this?"

Those words snapped him out of his daze, he hurriedly shook his head, "No! No! I swear-I had no idea! If I had I would've," He fumbled over the right thing to say, feeling Brigitte's glare burning into him, "I would've told you all. Brigitte, I would've-,"

"Okay, calm down," Brigitte said. "I believe you."

She then walked closer to the shelves, her head tilting upward to look at the massive weapons. The warheads had collected thin layers of dust and a cobweb or two over the years, but that didn't negate the fact that they were still in perfectly usable condition. Winston grimaced. He thought again of Reaper and the Talon agents during their first attack. If they had found this room…

Winston didn't want to think about that.

He watched as Brigitte shook her head, her hands gripping into tight fists.

"This place is so easy to get into, all we had to do was slip through a fence." Brigitte said, raising her volume. "And they just left these weapons in here, for anyone to take!" She gestured to the empty spaces on the other shelves, "Who's to say they haven't already?!"

"We'll get rid of them," Winston said quickly. "Make sure no one can have them."

She spun back around towards him, her expression flaring with the signature Lindholm anger, "And how exactly are we going to do that, Winston? You can't just 'get rid of' explosives like these without setting them off. Even if that doesn't kill somebody first, then it'll definitely send a big, 'Hello! We're squatting here!' to the UN!"

He took a step back, as if doing so would somehow spare him from Brigitte's judgement. She went quiet, her expression softening from a glare to regret as she seemed to read Winston's reaction. She let out a long sigh, pressing her fingers to her forehead, before looking at him again.

"What are we going to do?" She asked calmly.

Winston didn't answer right away. She was right. Setting off explosives of these sizes would only be logical for a fool or an adrenaline junkie. There was another solution. It wasn't one he liked.

"We'll have to dismantle them," Winston said. "It'll take a while, and we're going to need better tools. Still, it's better than setting them off or letting them fall into the wrong hands."

"Can just the two of us do that? I've never worked with anything like these."

"We'll learn how to do it," He tried to assure her, "Athena has access to plenty of old Overwatch files. One of them has to have the blueprints for these. And if not, we find someone who _can _take them apart."

She didn't look convinced, but she nodded, "Okay. I'll...see what I can do."

"Thanks. In the meantime, I'll set up some shields in front of these things. Extra security won't hurt," he added.

"I better tell Reinhardt," Brigitte said. "He should know about this. And besides, we'll need the extra muscle if we're going to move these things."

With that, Brigitte started towards the door. She began reaching towards the door's console before stopping.

"I'm sorry about blowing up at you like that," Brigitte said. She took a breath then continued in a firm tone, "Winston, I know you're only doing this because you think it's the right thing to do. And what happened with Reinhardt, with Overwatch, none of it was your fault. I'm with you guys on this recall, but only if you can promise me something."

She glanced at the weapons one final time. "Don't let Overwatch become _this _ever again. Let Reinhardt actually fight for a good cause this time, okay? He deserves that."

Winston solemnly nodded, finally gaining the courage to look her straight in the eyes.

"I promise."

Brigitte returned the nod.

"Thank you."

* * *

_Too long. It had been too long since he'd left. He should have been back by now. The alarms were blaring continuously, the hallways filled with the flashing red lights. Something was wrong. _

_Stay in his room, the doctor told him._

"_Don't worry Winston, I'll be back. Only be a minute, kiddo." _

_The alarm didn't go off for something that took a minute. Minutes shouldn't have felt like hours. He should go back. He should be good. He was being bad. He was being bad being out here without one of the scientists. Troublemaker. Troublemakers get sent to their rooms without dinner. _

_But Winston was scared. _

_That feeling kept him moving. _

_He glanced up at one of the hallway screens, the alarm message repeatedly blinked between another message that read: _

_ERROR: AIRLOCK E-35_

_UNAUTHORIZED ACTIVATION_

_Airlock. He knew what that was. He'd learned about it during one of their lessons. He'd seen them every day as he and the doctor went to the lab. The doors to the outside. To the moon. The ones that couldn't be opened. Only the scientists were allowed to and only when wearing a spacesuit. Bad things happened when those doors were opened otherwise. _

_His left hand brushed against a small object. The impact caused the thing to slide across the floor. Winston reached out, his hand shaking, and picked it up._

_A pair of glasses. _

_He went faster. _

_By the time he reached the airlock, he saw the other subjects—save for Hammond who'd been missing for a few days now—crowded around a sealed door. Simon was the closest to it, typing on the nearby console he'd seen the scientists use many times. Winston watched Simon press a button, and the screeching alarms ceased. Marie, a smaller chimpanzee, was farther back and the first to see him standing in the hallway. He held the glasses tightly against his chest._

"_Winston," Marie said. She turned towards the console and spoke louder, "Simon!"_

_Simon turned around. He made eye contact with him. Winston didn't move, his eyes broke away and darted around, looking for any sign of humans in the room. _

_Simon slunk away from the console, the larger gorilla spoke to him, "Winston." _

_Winston felt like he couldn't breathe. _

"_Winston," Simon repeated. _

"_Where are they?" Winston stuttered._

_Simon shook his head._

"_Gone." _

_He rushed forward, the others quickly moving out of his way. Two of them, Susan and Dyson, immediately moved in to stand defensively in front of Simon, believing him to be Winston's target. Though to their sudden relief, his target was instead the large window next to the airlock._

_On normal days, this window was the second best view of the planet Earth beyond the grey surface of the moon, the first being the telescope. _

_Not today._

_Outside, above the moon's surface, floating right in front of the view of the Earth, were seven still human-looking figures. Something about them was unrecognizable, save for one. They wore a tan spacesuit. The helmet, however, wasn't attached and floated a distance away from them. He could see the figure's face. _

"_Harold," Winston choked out. "Harold!" _

_He heard someone approach him from behind. _

"_Winston," Simon spoke. "It's over now."_

_Winston pressed his forehead against the window. The pair of glasses fell to the floor._

"_It's okay." _

_Winston trembled. His fault. All of this. Wasn't fast enough. Wasn't brave enough. Too slow and too hesitant._

"_They're gone now."_

_Winston released a wail, completely unfeeling to Simon's hand on his back. _

"_Everything is okay now."_

_He heard the others chime in._

"_Winston."_

"_Winston."_

"_Winston."_

"Winston."

* * *

"Winston!"

Winston jolted awake, gasping as he did. He frantically looked around, his left arm knocking against something lying on the table and sending it over the edge. When it hit the floor with a hard _clang_, he immediately looked down. The item, a screwdriver, rolled a bit on the floor before coming to a stop by his feet. With this, Winston felt the panic subside. He released the last of it in a small sigh and reached down to pick up the tool. As he brought it back up, he saw one of Athena's screens and an unfinished shield generator sitting on the table surface. Back in his lab. Right where he was supposed to be.

"Sorry Athena, I must've dozed off," said Winston, placing the screwdriver aside. "What time is it?"

"In Gibraltar, the time is 7:32 PM," She responded. Before Winston could reply, Athena quickly added on, "You appeared to be displaying signs of distress in your sleep. Your heart rate is also at a high level-,"

"Athena. What did I say about monitoring my vitals?"

"My apologies, Winston."

He pulled the shield generator closer and began scanning the table for the right tool, "Reinhardt and Brigitte?"

"Agent Wilhelm has retired for the night and is located in the Crew Quarters. Brigitte Lindholm is currently located in Hangar Eighteen. Winston, you should-,"

Winston huffed, "Athena, please. Let me finish this repair before you tell me to go to bed-,"

"That's not what I was going to say."

He paused.

She continued, "I was going to inform you that you should turn on the news. An incident has occurred in London, England and it is currently receiving a full media coverage. However-,"

"Turn on the news."

"Winston, what's on the news is very severe. You're already displaying signs of high emotional stress. I caution you, watching the news in your current state may cause physical symptoms if you do not allow yourself to calm down first-,"

"Athena. Turn. On. The. News."

A moment of quiet passed.

"Very well."

Athena's screen switched to that of a live broadcast playing. A banner reading, "BREAKING NEWS" scrolled across the top of the screen. In the center of the screen, an Atlas News reporter was standing on a busy street, holding an umbrella in one hand, as heavy rain poured around her, and a microphone in the other. In the background behind the reporter, crowds of people, humans and omnics alike, were gathered around an area closed off by police officers. Some were sobbing, others were trying to look over the blockades only to be pushed back by the officers. He could see a couple embracing each other, a human woman in tears while her omnic partner held her close.

"_-are saying that they barely got a glimpse of the attack. Security officers who were stationed on said rooftops were found unconscious, some injured. Scotland Yard has yet to release any further details, however, no sign of the apparent suspect has been found."_

"That's King's Row," Winston said, dread filling the air around him as he remembered what tonight was. "Oh no. No. No. No. Please don't tell me…"

"_Back to you, Olympia." _

The screen faded, transitioning to the Atlas News headquarters. Olympia Shaw, a reporter Winston had seen many times, sat at a table. Another reporter sat to the left of her. Both of them wore grim expressions.

"_Thank you, Nancy," _said Olympia. _"So far no word has been given on Tekhartha Mondatta's condition. Social media has exploded with prayers and wishes for his recovery, omnic rights activists and fellow Shambali members alike have shared stories of experiences with Mondatta, many calling him an inspiration to us all."_

The other reporter spoke up, _"It's terrible, Olympia. It really is. This rally was meant to be a stepping stone towards better human-omnic relations in London, only for it to be disrupted by such a…"_

They went on, the two reporters going back and forth with each other. Winston tuned them out as a realization dawned on him.

Lena.

"Athena! Call Tracer."

The broadcast paused and the screen was minimized, replaced by the agent communication system. Tracer's icon appeared. Her brave, smiling face in the picture only felt haunting as Winston anxiously waited for the call to link.

"Video feed unable to connect. Audio-only communication, enabled. Call is now active."

Winston didn't waste a second, "Tracer? I just saw the news, what's happening?"

To his surprise, it wasn't Lena's voice on the other end.

"Winston? Winston, oh my god!" Another woman's voice came through, her words cracking as she sounded on the verge of tears. "It's Emily. I—I've been trying to call you for hours, I couldn't figure out how to use Lena's comm, and getting a signal right now is insane. Not to mention the streets were crowded and it took me forever to get back home and—God, it's bloody chaos here!"

"Slow down, what's going on? Where's Tracer?" He said, trying to hide his own panic.

"She's here with me, we're at our apartment. We're safe. But we're…" Emily trailed off. She went quiet.

He feared the call might've failed for a moment, until he heard the barely audible sounds of what seemed to be another newscast in the background. There was more quiet.

Then that quiet was broken by a wail in the background.

Lena's wail.

"_NOOO!" _

Shuffling noises overpowered the audio. Soon, Emily's voice came back, mixed in with the much louder and clearer sobs of Lena.

"Lena, I'm here. I'm right here. I've got you."

Winston wanted to say something, hoping that his friend would be able to hear him over the comm. Still he stayed silent, only helplessly listening to her cry and Emily's attempts to console her despite holding back her own sobs.

"Please, Lena, love, I know. You need to calm down, your accelerator's still damaged, you have to stay stabilized—I know, love, I know. I'm here."

He tensed. Then he spoke up.

"Emily?"

She spoke back, her words now consumed by sobs.

"Lena's hurt. And Mondatta's dead."


End file.
